No One Here Could Know
by littleoases
Summary: The days that follow "Mash-Off" are some of the hardest of Santana's life. Brittana. Takes place between 3x06 and 3x07. COMPLETE.
1. Part 1: Thursday

No One Here Could Know

Part 1: Thursday

* * *

><p>The one place she thinks to run is Ms. Holliday's old office, the one that doubles as a janitor's closet. She's not sure why her body directs her there. Her first thought was her car, but she left her keys in Sue's office. She runs fast, choking on her sobs, wiping her eyes as she goes.<p>

The old makeshift office is blissfully unlocked. She slams the door behind her and collapses on the floor between a shelf and a desk. She falls to a prostrate position – as if in prayer – and sobs to the linoleum below her. She always forgets what it's like, this crying business. She forgets about the pressure in her nose, the taste of salt in her mouth; she forgets how her head hurts and her heart squeezes. She forgets how her voice stops sounding like it's hers.

There are no tissues in here – only rough paper towels and an old rag. She blows her nose into a paper towel and it scratches against her face. She draws a shaky breath and inhales the paper's slightly mildewed, slightly industrial scent.

_Brittany_.

She retrieves her cell phone from her bra and sends a text – "Need you. Please please. In Ms. H's old office. Need you" – and then lies back against the shelf, trying to steady her breathing, trying to sort through her feelings.

She's thinking about countless people all over Ohio when the door opens and Brittany's standing there.

"San?" she says, and Santana loses control again.

"Brittany," she sobs. She pulls her knees up to her chest and cries into them. "Brittany. It happened. Brittany."

Brittany closes the door and falls to her knees next to Santana, placing hands all over her face, her knees, her arms. "Santana," she says. "Santana. What happened? What's wrong?"

"I can't…" Santana chokes out. "I can't. It's h-h-happened and I-I-I can't."

Brittany pulls Santana away from the shelf and settles herself behind her. She wraps two long arms around Santana's body, trying to stifle her sobs, and says, "Santana. Santana, honey. Tell me what happened."

Santana wants to tell her but she physically can't. She can't stop crying, can't stop choking on all the poison coming out of her chest. Brittany holds her and says, "Shhh, shhh, San, it's okay," but it's not, and Santana can't stop crying.

"Tissues," Santana chokes out.

Brittany grabs the paper towels and hands them to her. Santana goes through four paper towels in a row, trying to clear her nasal passage, but the tears keep coming. Her crying is a steady stream that's interrupted every few seconds by her gasps for air. Brittany smoothes her hair back over and over and says, "I know, I know," the way her mom used to say to her baby sister to soothe her.

Brittany starts to rock her gently. Santana surrenders to her completely. She doesn't have control of her muscles, doesn't have control of her mind. She continues to cry, but at a softer, slower space.

"Breathe, baby," Brittany says. "Breathe."

Santana nods and takes a few deep breaths.

She eventually calms down.

"There we go," Brittany says. She kisses Santana's temple and rubs her upper left arm. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Santana nods. She takes a few more settling breaths, then she tells Brittany about the video and the smear campaign. She tells her about the conversation with Finn. She tells her about Sue, Mr. Hummel, and Mr. Schuester.

Brittany listens quietly and continues to rub Santana's arm, but Santana feels her muscles tense.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there," says Brittany.

Santana breathes. "It was humiliating. Not just—the video, but all of them t-t-talking to me like that. With all that—pity. Like I was a—pig about to be—speared and r-r-r-oasted."

"I'm so sorry, San," Brittany whispers.

Santana lies back in her arms. "None of this is real," she says. "It can't be real."

Brittany nuzzles her cheek. "It's going to be okay," she says.

Santana shakes her head. "No. No, it's not."

They stay there for an hour, just like that – Santana breathing and Brittany holding her.

When Mr. Kidney finds them and starts yelling at them, Brittany says, "I swear we weren't making out this time," and pulls Santana from the room.

* * *

><p>Brittany tries to convince her that they should just go home – they can always do the Adele mash-up tomorrow – but Santana won't have it.<p>

"No one's taking _this_ from me," she says.

The other Troubletones notice that something's up, though. When Sugar asks what's wrong and Santana storms off the stage, yelling at Sugar to mind her own damn business, Brittany steps in and tells them that Miss Fluffy died.

"Who's Miss Fluffy?" Mercedes asks.

"Her pet tarantula," Brittany says in a flat tone. "They were very close."

They do a run-through of the first part of the song, but they have to stop at Santana's part. They can't practice it without her.

"Somebody needs to go get her!" Sugar says. "This is why _I _should have sung this part."

"Mercedes, maybe you should go look for her," Brittany says, thinking that Santana might want to share the truth with her. Mercedes catches her eye and takes a hint.

"Good idea, Britt," she says. "I'll be right back. You guys keep practicing that dance."

* * *

><p>Brittany's not shocked when Santana jumps down from the stage after their performance. She watches, transfixed, her heart aching, as Santana screams at Finn. She doesn't anticipate the slap, but it doesn't jolt her the way it seems to jolt everyone else. Everybody's looking at Santana like she's crazy, but Santana just looks like a falling airplane that can't find a landing strip.<p>

"Santana," Mr. Schue says, trying to claim her attention. "Santana."

Santana visibly shakes. Her eyes dart around from former teammate to former teammate, looking for a safe place. Brittany goes to her, takes her hand, and leads her toward the exit.

"Brittany, stop, come back!" Mr. Schue shouts. "We need to talk about this!"

"No, we don't," Brittany says over her shoulder.

She leads Santana across the parking lot to where their cars are parked side-by-side. "Wait here," she tells her. "I'll be right back."

She hustles back to the auditorium, sneaks in a back door, and grabs their backpacks and Cheerios uniforms. Her heart's beating fast – she's afraid to leave Santana alone, afraid that Santana might storm back in there or that the others might storm out to the parking lot.

Santana is leaning against her car when she gets back out to the parking lot. Her eyes are focused on something far away, something Brittany can't see.

"Get in, San," Brittany says gently. "We'll come back for your car tomorrow."

Santana doesn't speak at all during the ride to her house. She leans against the window with her eyes shut and her hand over her eyes, hiding from demons that she can't describe to anyone else.

Brittany takes her hand again and squeezes it tight. She laces their fingers together and rubs circles into Santana's thumb. Santana still leans against the window with her eyes shut. When Adele's "Someone Like You" comes on the radio, Brittany feels like someone is taunting them. She punches the power button.

* * *

><p>Santana sits on her bed as Brittany unties her hair and combs her fingers through the dark tresses. She kneads the back of Santana's neck, right where her skull meets her spine, and stamps the skin with her lips. She unzips Santana's dress and slides the straps off her shoulders, tenderly kissing the skin that's revealed.<p>

Santana sits quietly, numb to everything except Brittany's touches and kisses. She feels a quick stab of panic when Brittany gets off her bed, but relaxes when she sees Brittany rifling through her dresser, pulling out an old cotton tee-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"Come here, baby," Brittany says.

Santana stands and walks over to her. In some distant part of her brain, she realizes how pathetic she's acting right now. But she's too numb to care. Too numb, too emotionally worn out.

"Arms up," Brittany says. Santana lifts her arms high and Brittany pulls the dress up over her head. Santana watches Brittany disappear for a fraction of a second as the black fabric of the dress overtakes her line of sight. But then Brittany reappears, gathering the dress and tossing it over the back of Santana's desk chair. She tugs the tee-shirt over Santana's head, smiling just a little bit when Santana's right arm gets stuck. She sweeps a lock of hair out of Santana's eyes and kisses her forehead.

"Legs in," Brittany says, holding open the sweatpants. Santana places a hand on Brittany's shoulder to balance herself as she steps into the legs of the sweatpants. Brittany pulls them up to her hips and settles her hands there for a moment. Then she places a cool hand against Santana's cheek and looks at her.

"You're exhausted," she says.

Santana doesn't agree or disagree; she waits to be told what to do.

"Bed," Brittany says quietly.

Santana secures the covers around herself as she lays her body down. She pulls the duvet up to her face, resting it just over her mouth, tucking herself as deeply as possible into her bed. Brittany lies down behind her and wraps a tight arm around her ribs. Santana thinks it's the only thing anchoring her right now.

"Everything's going to be better in the morning," Brittany tells her.

Santana feels tears burning her eyes again. "Please stay with me," she whispers. "Please. I'm so scared."

Brittany squeezes her and kisses her neck. "I love you," she whispers. "I love you. I love you."

Brittany breathes. Santana breathes.


	2. Part 2: Friday

"Santana," her mother calls. "Let's go, out of bed, you're running late."

Santana pulls the covers further over her head. "Not going today."

"Excuse me?"

"Mama, please, I feel terrible," she whines.

Her mother approaches her bed and pulls the covers back. She feels Santana's forehead and frowns. "You're not running a fever."

"It's not my head," Santana says. "Stomach bug or something. It's going around."

"We let you sleep all through the evening and night," her mother says. "Stop being a baby. Let's go. Up."

Minutes later, Santana sits at the kitchen counter, trying to eat some toast. The thought of swallowing food makes her nauseous.

"Eat your breakfast," her mother says.

Santana tears off a corner and chews it slowly. She studies her mother: the dark eyes, the stern expression, the worry lines. It's the first time she's seen her mother since everything happened. She wonders how her face will change after she knows.

"Don't be late for school," her mother warns, picking up her purse and car keys. "See you tonight. Feel better."

She takes a last sip of coffee and heads out the door. Santana sits motionlessly on her chair, feeling something creep over her. It wraps around her stomach and throat, making her breathing hurt. She thinks of the video, of Finn, of random faces all over McKinley who will know. Who might already know.

Without warning, she vomits all over the kitchen floor.

…

Her phone vibrates on her night stand. She was waiting for it to do that.

"Where are you?" the text message reads.

"Home. Couldn't do it. Sorry, brittbritt."

She falls asleep. She dreams that the smear campaign video plays all across the country. President Obama meets with her parents to explain to them that their daughter is a lesbian. Her parents ask why this had to happen to them and Finn Hudson says it's because she lit a piano on fire.

She wakes up, disoriented, and feels an immediate plunge in her stomach. Her new reality is still real.

She hides from it by going back to sleep.

The next time she awakens, she feels a comfortable pressure on her body. It's Brittany. She's lying beside her, holding her close. Santana knows even before she opens her eyes. She'll stay here, just like this, hiding from everyone and everything. She breathes deeply through her nose, and the pure scent of Brittany calms her.

Santana sighs. "Sorry I wasn't at school," she mutters.

Brittany shifts her body. "You okay?"

Santana chews on her lip, feels her stomach tighten. "I don't know," she answers honestly.

"Have you eaten today?"

"No."

"San."

"I tried to, but I threw up."

Brittany sighs. "Open your eyes. Let me take a look at you."

Santana squints in the bright sunlight. Brittany's frowning with concern. She looks haggard, like she hasn't slept much.

"How bad?" Santana asks. "Do I look like a hot mess?"

Brittany smiles at that. "Well…you look like you've had a lot of sleep. Like, too much sleep," she says.

Santana raises an arm from beneath the covers and traces the purple shades of skin under Brittany's eyes. "And you look like you haven't," she says.

"Rude," Brittany says, but she kisses Santana gently. "Wake up, okay? I'm going to get you something to eat."

Santana doesn't want to wake up, but she nods because—well, it doesn't seem as awful now that Brittany's here with her.

Brittany makes her a peanut butter and banana sandwich and some coffee. Santana sits up in bed, back against the headboard, and takes small bites and sips. Brittany sits across from her and watches her with a worried look on her face.

"So what's the news at school?" Santana asks. She tries to sound nonchalant with the question, but she knows Brittany sees straight through it.

Brittany plays with a thread on the duvet. "Well…Finn figured out why you got so upset."

"Oh? How? Somebody broke it down for his mountain troll self?"

"Mr. Schue talked to him after we left yesterday," Brittany says.

"I bet he acted all innocent about it," Santana spits. "Probably got all wide-eyed and horrified. Mr. Schue probably took pity on him. Asshole."

Brittany shrugs. "Everyone's really worried about you. Mercedes and Quinn want to come see you after school. Oh, and Tina, too."

Santana scoffs. "So where are they, then?"

Brittany looks confused. "At school," she says. "Tina has a math test in fifth hour and she doesn't want to miss it."

"Wait, what? What time is it?"

"Did the Time Fairies get to you?" Brittany asks, cocking her head. "It's, like, noon."

"So you're skipping?"

"No….I thought it was only skipping if we did it together?"

Santana smiles for the first time since the previous morning. "No, Britt," she says with quiet amusement. "It's skipping any time you leave school before you're supposed to."

"Oh," says Brittany. She smiles. "Well, I guess I'm skipping, then."

Santana shakes her head and takes a bite of her sandwich.

"Can you really blame me?" Brittany asks her. "I was worried about you."

Santana tilts her head and extends a hand across the covers. Brittany takes hold of it and moves her thumb across Santana's palm, rubbing tiny circles into her lifelines.

"I'll be okay," Santana assures her. "I'm just being a little dramatic right now."

Brittany kisses Santana's open palm. "No you're not," she says. "I know what dramatic Santana looks like. Remember sophomore year—your Dashboard Confessional phase? I never knew what that guy was so depressed about."

Santana smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Come on," Brittany says. "Let's go downstairs."

"Why?"

"We're going to watch a movie. You need to be cuddled and you need your mind to go somewhere happy. Like maybe—Carebears the Movie?"

"False," says Santana. "I don't even own that."

"That's not my fault, I tried to give it to you for Easter that one time. Okay, so DuckTales it is."

Santana rolls her eyes and starts to feel like herself again. She lets Brittany lead her by the hand to the den, where she is wrapped in a blanket, pulled into Brittany's arms, and kissed over and over while Scrooge McDuck and his nephews search for the lost lamp.

…

It's almost five p.m., and Finn has no idea why Brittany just showed up at his house.

"Britt?" he says when he answers the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course." He stands aside for her. "What's up?"

"I'd like to talk to you."

"Er…sure. Let's go to the kitchen. You want a glass of water or anything?"

They settle around the table and look across at each other. Brittany plays with the centerpiece for a few seconds.

"I want to talk about Santana," she says.

"Oh," says Finn, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down. "Should have known."

Kurt appears in the doorway and notices their serious faces. "What's going on?" he asks. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," says Brittany. "I just wanted to talk about what happened in the auditorium yesterday."

"Look, I feel really bad," says Finn. "But I'm ready to move past everything and for all of us to be friends again. I want to be there for Santana. I'm not angry anymore."

"Um," says Brittany. Her voice wavers a little bit. "Well, I _am_ angry."

"Britt, come on," says Finn. "You do realize this wasn't a black-or-white situation, don't you?"

"Right, here we go," Brittany says, fiddling with her scarf. "Talking down to me like you always do. I know you think I'm dumb—maybe you're right, maybe I don't have the highest IQ. But I have a _really_ high SQ. Like, Afroman levels of high."

When Finn blinks in confusion, she says, "SQ. Santana Quotient."

"Right," says Finn.

"Look," says Brittany. "What you did was wrong. It's not okay that you outed her the way you did. She wasn't ready for this, and I want you to apologize."

Finn's jaw clenches. He sits up straighter and pushes his chest out. Kurt glances between the two of them with appraising eyes, then tentatively sits down at the far end of the table.

"Brittany, I _will _apologize," Finn says. "I've already told you I feel bad. But are you listening to what I'm saying? It's not like she's the innocent victim in this situation. I wouldn't have said that stuff to her if she hadn't been insulting me again. She sort of got what was coming to her."

Brittany's face contorts in anger, but before she can say anything, Kurt speaks.

"No," he says firmly, settling his eyes on his half-brother.

Finn snaps his eyes to him, getting defensive. "Kurt, you're not even part of this conversation."

"It's never okay to out someone," Kurt says calmly. "Never. No matter how badly they may have treated you. Britt's right."

"It was her choice to make," Brittany says angrily. "And she had a very clear idea of when she was going to do it, and you took that from her."

Finn shakes his head, blinking at Brittany, deriding her ignorance. "Of course," Finn says dryly. "I'm obviously the bad guy. She didn't do _anything_ wrong."

"No, she did a lot of wrong things," Brittany says. "She can be a very mean person. She should have lain off you." She blinks across the table at him. "She was bullying you. I know. I've watched her bully people for years."

"And you just thought you'd sit back and not say anything about it?" Finn sneers. "Thought you'd just let her keep going?"

"Santana is the way she is for a reason," Brittany says. "I can't change her any more than you can change Rachel."

"Ah, let me guess," says Finn. "The reason she's like that is...a dysfunctional family? Her doggie died when she was little? She didn't get a pony for her birthday? Come on, Brittany, none of us had a perfect childhood."

Brittany is quiet for a few moments. She stares at her folded hands and bites her lip.

"When we were in first grade," she says in a low voice, "Santana really wanted this blue sled for Christmas."

"Okay…" says Finn.

"We had seen all these commercials on TV," Brittany continues, "and it looked awesome, and it was a two-seater, and she said that was perfect because we'd be able to go sledding together. So she begged her parents for it for _weeks_. Like, probably even before Halloween. And on Christmas Eve her parents placed this huge present under the tree. And she knew it was the sled. She called me that afternoon and told me. We were so excited that we forgot to take Lord Tubbington to Christmas tea with the other cats.

"And then later that night, when her parents threw their annual Christmas Eve party, Santana was helping to clear the table and accidentally knocked a glass of wine onto one of their friends. Red wine. It got all over this lady's new Christmas dress. So her parents were like, really embarrassed and really furious. And the next day, when she woke up, there wasn't a big present under the tree anymore."

"They took it back?" Kurt asks.

"No," Brittany says. "When they went to her abuela's Christmas party later that day, they gave the sled to her cousin Lucy. They made Santana write the card and give it to her, right in front of everyone, and then they made her sit in the basement for the rest of the party."

Finn's mouth hangs slightly open. Kurt stares at Brittany with an expression that's hard to read.

"When Santana got her summer surgery last year," Brittany continues, "her grandmother told her that it was 'about time she did something to get a boyfriend.'"

"They _wanted_ her to get that surgery?" Kurt asks disbelievingly.

Brittany shrugs. "Her family doesn't really understand her. They have no idea how talented she is or what she cares about. They just want her to look the part of the perfect daughter. You know, perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, all of that. They expect that of her, and when she can't meet their expectations, they tear her down. A lot. So she just…retreats into herself and projects this façade of what she thinks she's supposed to be, or what people want her to be. And everybody thinks it's real."

"So you're saying…" Finn says slowly, "…that she's mean because her parents are mean?"

"I'm saying…that I think you learn how to love other people based on the kind of love you're shown," Brittany says. "Her parents aren't _bad_ people, but they're not like your parents or my parents. It's normal in her house to insult and to humiliate. She didn't grow up with confidence or self-assuredness or constant support. She's scared, like, _all_ _of the time_. She's terrified for them to see that campaign video."

"I didn't know all of that," says Finn.

"I'm not saying it's an excuse for how mean she was to you," says Brittany. "'Cause it's not."

"But it's certainly a new perspective," says Kurt.

"How does she deal with that?" Finn asks.

Brittany looks at him. "She has other people in her life who are good at loving her. The real her."

"You," says Kurt. "With everything else, she has you."

Brittany shrugs her shoulders. "I'm lucky," she says simply. "For some reason, she lets me in. She doesn't act like Shrek around me."

"I'm sorry, what?" Kurt asks.

"Oh come on, you know," Brittany says impatiently. "'_Ogres are like onions, Donkey_,'" she says in a deep Scottish accent. "_'They have layers_.' Santana isn't an onion with me like she is with everyone else. She's just Santana."

"I didn't realize you loved her back, Britt," says Finn. He stares down at the table. "I sort of suggested to her that you didn't," he mumbles.

Brittany doesn't say anything. Finn looks up at her, sees the outrage on her face, and blurts out, "I didn't mean to—"

"You shouldn't have done that," Brittany says in a quiet voice. Her tongue rests against her teeth; she looks away from him. "You shouldn't have done that," she repeats.

"I'm sorry," Finn says. "I'm really—"

"When her parents find out about everything, it's going to cause a lot of hell for her," Brittany cuts in. She still won't make eye contact with Finn. She clears her throat. "I just want you to realize that. I know she's hurt you—I know she's hurt a lot of our friends—but she's going to need a lot of support. And I'll be expecting you to give her some."

"Yeah, of course."

Brittany stands up and slings her purse over her shoulder. "I need to go. Thanks for listening."

She strides across the kitchen. When she reaches the doorway, she pauses and looks over her shoulder at Finn.

"Just so you know, I do love her," she states. "More than you can imagine. Not that it's any of your business."

Finn gapes at her. Kurt looks between them again. Brittany walks purposefully to the door and out into the cool November night.

…

Santana doesn't want to sleep at her house that night. She feels too anxious around her parents. She doesn't know when that campaign ad will air and the not-knowing is killing her.

"Can we get away from here?" she asks Brittany. "Maybe go stay in a hotel somewhere?"

"No, San."

When Santana asks why not, Brittany says, "Because you won't want to come back."

So she goes to Brittany's for the night. It turns out to be just as hard as staying at her own house. It's difficult to sit through dinner with the Pierce's when she knows that their opinion of her—this girl who has been their daughter's best friend for years—will soon change for the worse. She tries to invest herself in the table conversation—something about Ashley's squabble with a boy in her class—but she can't stop imagining how Brittany's parents will react to the campaign ad. Brittany catches her eye and smiles in her _It's okay, San_ kind of way.

They offer to clean the kitchen after dinner. Brittany loads the dishwasher and Santana cleans the table and counters. There's a drop of congealed spaghetti sauce on the stove that she just can't wipe away. She scrubs and scrubs, lost in thought, not paying attention to Brittany when she starts talking.

"San." Brittany turns the water off. "Hey. Santana."

"Yeah?"

Brittany glances around and sees that they're alone. She dries her hands on a dish towel and pulls Santana into a backwards hug.

"It's just another Friday night at my house," she murmurs into Santana's ear. "Relax."

Santana breathes out and leans back into Brittany. "Sorry. I'm just really on edge."

Brittany stills for a moment. Then she whispers, "Put your jacket on. We're going for a ride."

"Where?"

Brittany raises her eyebrows as if to say _You'll see. _Then she ducks her head quickly, kisses Santana firmly on the mouth, and goes to retrieve her jacket and car keys.

…

Something about the crisp night air, the heat blasting in Brittany's Jeep, the hickory smell of autumn turning to winter—it soothes Santana. And the sight of Brittany's eyes shining brightly as she drives—it reminds Santana that there was a reason she chose to go for the things she truly wanted.

Brittany drives them to a 7-11. When she pulls into the parking lot, she grins triumphantly at Santana.

Santana cocks her head in confusion. "Britt?"

"Come on, San. 7-11. It's, like, heaven."

Now Santana grins. "And why are we at 7-11?"

"Because _we_—" Brittany stretches across the console and kisses her—"are going to get _slushies_."

"To drink or to throw at someone?"

"To drink, crazy face. Come on."

They sample all the flavors before they choose. Santana opts for cherry; Brittany opts for blueberry. (They promise to share.) They grab some candy and chips, too.

"This tastes much better when it's in a cup and not dripping down my face," Brittany says as she pays for their treats. The guy at the cash register stares at her and she says, "What—like that's never happened to you?"

Santana giggles and tugs on Brittany's jacket. "Come on, Britty, let's go."

…

When they're in bed later, all curled up together under the blankets, Santana looks into Brittany's eyes for a while. Brittany lets her.

"I'm still scared," Santana says.

"I know," Brittany replies.

"What do you think's going to happen with my parents?"

Brittany sighs and plays with the chain of Santana's necklace. "It's going to take a while…but they'll come around."

Santana feels something well up in her throat. "I'm worried they won't," she whispers.

Brittany adjusts her head on the pillow and searches Santana's face. "I think they will," she says after a minute. "And I think you know that, deep down. It's just that it's going to be a slow path to get to that point."

Santana nods; the tears in her eyes start to leak out.

"Remember that one summer when you only wore overalls and your parents were so mad?"

Santana laughs. "Oh God," she says, wiping her eyes. "And my dad took me down to the rail yard and told me that if I wanted to look like one of the workers, that I could just get out of the car right then and there?"

Brittany giggles. "You considered it, though."

Santana shrugs a shoulder. "I wanted to ride the trains."

"But…remember they finally just got over it? Even though your grandmother wouldn't stop calling you 'Pedro' cause she said you looked like a boy—"

"—that nasty old bitch."

"—but your parents eventually just gave up and let you wear them. I mean, not that they were thrilled or anything, but…."

"Yeah."

"So maybe this'll be like that."

Santana rocks her head a little bit, thinking about it. She seizes Brittany's fingers and plays with them one-by-one, examining the pads, mapping out what Brittany's fingerprints would look like.

"I love you," she says quietly. She raises her eyes to meet Brittany's. "I don't know how I'd do this without you."

Brittany laces their fingers together. "Well…" she says, "you'll never have to." She scoots forward and kisses Santana—tenderly and protectively. Santana receives her kiss as if she's been drowning in an ocean and has just been thrown a buoy. She kisses back strongly, claiming Brittany's love with abandon.


	3. Part 3: Saturday

Author's Note: This is the final chapter of NOHCK. Thank you for reading!

…

Brittany's the first one to wake up on Saturday morning. She always likes to guess what time it is based on how her body feels and how strong the sunlight seems. Today she flutters her eyes in the morning light and guesses that it's about 9:45. She's pretty sure she's right, but she'll wait to check the clock on her nightstand until she's had a few more minutes of just lying here with Santana. She likes to feel suspended in time—it reminds her of dancing, of leaping across the stage and enjoying the incredible lightness before she lands and reorients herself in the world.

Sometimes, when she first wakes up but hasn't opened her eyes yet, she likes to make herself wait before looking over at Santana. She draws it out, takes her in time in rolling over or opening her eyes to see what's before her. Sometimes she imagines what Santana will look like—dark hair a mess on the pillow, mouth slightly open, arm curved on the sheets; sometimes she makes bets with herself on whether Santana's sleeping on her side or on her stomach (she almost never sleeps on her back). Mostly she just savors the sweet anticipation of waking up to her favorite person in the world.

Today she opens her eyes and rolls to her left, and there's Santana: lying on her stomach with her face nestled into her arm. She's breathing quietly and Brittany can see her back rising and falling in time with her breaths. One of Santana's legs is below the sheets and the other is on top of the duvet, practically hanging off the bed. Brittany smiles because Santana always does that: she can never decide whether her feet feel warm or cold, so she compromises and kicks one foot out from the sheets.

Santana's eyebrows are knit together, as if in worry. Brittany hopes so much that she's not having a bad dream, that she's not feeling the anxieties of waking life in her sleep. Brittany snuggles close but doesn't want to wake Santana, so she closes her eyes and dozes. She imagines a future where they won't have to worry about the people at McKinley High School or the approval of Santana's parents.

Some time later, Santana's breathing changes. Brittany feels her stir and stretch, so she opens her eyes to watch Santana wake up. She loves to watch that—loves to watch as Santana's eyelids twitch for a few seconds before pulling back to reveal her lovely dark eyes.

"Hey," Brittany says.

Santana stretches and lets out a small groan. "Hi."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Mmhmm." Santana reaches for Brittany's hand and closes her eyes again. "Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Brittany sweeps Santana's hair back from her face. "What do you want to do today? Anything special?"

Santana laughs through her nose. "You are always so excited to start the day," she says.

"Duh," says Brittany. "So many new adventures." She kisses Santana's forehead. "We should do something really fun."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything you want."

Santana looks sleepily at her. "Can we just…be lazy right now? I just want to lie in bed and snuggle with you."

Brittany grins big. "Yeah?"

Santana grins too, though hers is shy. "Yeah."

"You are such a softie," Brittany teases. She pulls Santana close and wraps an arm around her. "Like a fluffy little bunny rabbit—or a marshmallow."

Santana giggles into Brittany's chest. "You can't make fun of me right now, Britt. I'm going through a traumatic experience, remember?"

"Santana, spilling your slushie in my car was not as traumatic as you're making it out to be," Brittany deadpans.

Santana giggles again and kisses Brittany's collarbone. They fall into a happy quietness: Brittany holding Santana and Santana breathing into Brittany's skin.

After a few minutes of silence, when Santana's breathing starts to change, Brittany asks, "Are you falling back to sleep?"

"No," says Santana, though the hitch in her voice gives away that she was. "Will you scratch my back?"

"Sure."

Santana rolls onto her side and Brittany skates her nails across Santana's back. She zigzags, she loops, she writes words, she tickles every so often—and Santana relaxes into her touch. When Brittany's arm starts to get tired, she closes the gap between their bodies and drapes her arm across Santana's waist. Santana takes her hand and holds it over her stomach.

They doze for a while before Brittany starts to get restless. She shifts her body and stretches her legs. Santana makes a small noise of amusement, like she knows how impatient Brittany's getting. Brittany can't help it: her body needs to move. She flexes her arms, stretches her neck, and Santana jokes, "Calm yourself, antsy pants. What, are you bored of cuddling with me?"

Brittany raises herself up on an elbow and kisses Santana's face. "You know how I get. I'm going to go make breakfast—or see if my mom made breakfast." She smiles. "Come down soon?"

Santana nods. Brittany bounds out of bed, pulls on a pair of boxer shorts, and heads to the door before Santana calls, "Wait."

"What?"

Santana looks shyly at her. "Come here."

Brittany doubles back to the bed. "What's up?"

Santana sits up and kisses Brittany full on the mouth.

"Okay, now you can go," she says.

Brittany raises her eyebrows questioningly.

Santana shrugs. "I hadn't kissed you yet today," she explains.

Brittany's face breaks out into a huge grin. "Okay, you have to stop this."

"Stop what?"

"Being so cute all the time. It's—like—I don't even know what to do with it."

Santana bites her lip and looks all the more adorable, so Brittany does the only thing she can do: she climbs onto the bed, leans down over Santana, and kisses her once, twice, a dozen times.

…

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"No."

"San."

"No, Britt."

Brittany frowns. "But they really want to come see you! You wouldn't let them yesterday…."

"Why do they want to come so badly?"

"Because they're your friends and they're worried about you!"

Santana stares contemptuously at her sandwich. "They just want to see how bad the damage is."

Brittany leans forward across the table. "Santana," she says in a stern tone. She waits for Santana to look at her. "I love you, but you're being a total butt-face right now."

Santana's scowl morphs slowly into a smile. "A butt-face, Britt? Really?"

Brittany laughs. "Yes." She kicks Santana's foot under the table. "Come on."

Santana rests her head in her hand and picks at the chips on her plate. "Fine," she mumbles. "Tell Quinn they can come in like, an hour."

"Perfect."

"You have way too much power over me."

"Only in bed, baby," Brittany teases.

Santana flicks a chip at her.

…

The doorbell rings around two o'clock. Brittany kisses the frown off Santana's face before she goes to answer it. Quinn's standing there with Mercedes and Tina flanking her on either side.

Brittany beams at them and invites them in.

Santana looks around as they all come into the family room. They smile tentatively at her and wave hi. She smiles tightly.

"Hey, Santana," says Mercedes. "Good to see you looking better."

"Let's go up to my room," says Brittany. "It'll be quieter up there."

"It's quiet in here," says Tina.

"But you never know who's listening. My cats could be undercover spies—actually sometimes I think they were part of Wiki Leaks."

Santana's glad that Brittany made the bed; otherwise she might feel weird about all of them sitting on it now. They sit in a loose circle and chat about school, and Santana actually feels like maybe they _are_ her friends. She listens quietly, bumping knees with Brittany, waiting for the conversation to turn to her like she knows it eventually has to.

Quinn's the one who voices the reason they're there.

"We've been worried about you," she tells Santana, and Santana catches a glimpse of the old Quinn—the one who used to be her good friend.

"Were you sick yesterday?" Mercedes asks her.

Santana fidgets with the hem of her sweater and looks at Brittany. Brittany's face doesn't hold any expectations: she's just waiting to see how Santana wants to handle this one.

"I was hiding," Santana confesses. "I was afraid to deal with—everything."

They look at her like she's naked. She supposes she is.

"What Finn did was pretty messed up," Quinn says quietly.

"Even Rachel's mad at him," Tina says.

Santana nods. "Does—everyone know?"

"Pretty much everyone in New Directions does," Mercedes answers gently. "But nobody's had anything bad to say about it."

"I don't think we were entirely surprised," Quinn says with a small smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Please," says Mercedes. Her eyes roam over Santana and Brittany. "We've been watching you guys for two years now."

Brittany laughs and nudges Santana. "You can't hide how much you want me," she teases.

Santana smiles at her. "I guess I'm not very subtle."

"So you guys _are _together?" Tina asks.

They look at each other: Brittany flashes her big goofy grin and Santana's mouth curls into a giddy smile.

"Yeah," says Santana.

"And you thought The TroubleTones wouldn't have any love connections," Quinn says to Mercedes.

"Do your parents know?" Tina asks.

"Ha," says Santana. "No. But they will soon because of that campaign ad. That's why I've been so—you know."

"Are they going to be upset?"

Santana looks to Brittany to answer for her.

"Santana's parents are kind of…resistant," Brittany says delicately. "It's going to be hard."

"We'll have your back," says Mercedes.

"Definitely," says Tina.

"Thanks," Santana tells them, and she's surprised to find that she means it.

…

Brittany decides they're getting dinner and a movie that night, just the two of them.

"Go through your clothes basket," she says, "and find something cute."

"Is this a date?" Santana asks.

Brittany blinks at her. "Isn't everything we do together a date?"

Santana's stomach does flips. She ducks into Brittany's closet and sorts through her clothes basket, and as she pulls out shirt after shirt, she can't stop grinning like an idiot.

…

Brittany drives them to a hole-in-the-wall Asian restaurant on the opposite side of town. Santana peers out the car window and frowns. "Britt, what—? BreadStiX wouldn't cut it tonight?"

"I wanted to try something different," Brittany says as she turns off the ignition. "Tina recommended it. She said nobody from McKinley comes here, so we won't have to worry about being seen."

"Being seen?"

"Yeah. Like, we can have some privacy."

Santana feels panic in her chest. "Britt…is this…I mean, are you aiming for an intimate romantic dinner or something?"

Brittany stares at her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not ready for the big romantic dinner yet! I can't just, like, waltz into a restaurant and kiss you across the table and be all _Lady and the Tramp_ with you!"

"Okay well—if you wanted to play _Lady and the Tramp_, we'd have to be at an Italian restaurant," Brittany says. "Can you please trust me a little bit? I'm not trying to push you out of the closet and make you kiss me in public. I just want to have dinner with you." She exhales quickly and looks at the steering wheel. "And yes, I did purposely pick a restaurant where nobody would know us, but that was so you would feel comfortable in case you wanted to hold hands again or anything. And also because I was sick of BreadStiX and I was craving egg rolls."

Santana wrings her hands together. She tries to think of something to say, but her apology gets stuck in her throat.

Brittany places a calm hand over her fidgeting fingers. "Santana—I know you're scared, but that doesn't mean we're going to hide from the world."

Santana inhales deeply and nods. "Sorry," she mutters.

"It's okay," Brittany says.

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Santana says, "So…can we share these egg rolls?"

Brittany smiles. "Duh."

…

It's funny, Santana thinks, that her second official dinner date with Brittany feels so normal and yet so magical at the same time. They're doing the things they've always done—stealing food off of each other's plates, drinking from each other's water glasses when the waiter doesn't fill them up fast enough—but it means so much more to her now. She loves that she can look across the table at Brittany for no reason at all, whenever she wants to, and for as long as she wants to.

"You keep staring at me," Brittany says.

"Yep," Santana replies. "Want to know why?"

Brittany grins. "Why?"

"Because you're really, really cute."

…

When they're almost finished eating, Brittany looks up from her sweet and sour chicken and says, "I have an idea I want to talk to you about."

"For the campaign?" Santana asks.

"No. For us."

_Us_. The word rings in Santana's brain like it's brand new.

"Okay, what?"

"You're awesome, and I'm so proud of you for how far you've come since last year," Brittany says. She looks into Santana's eyes. "_So _proud. But I know a lot of this stuff has sucked and is gonna continue to suck."

Santana squints at her, wondering where she's going with this conversation.

"I want to go on a trip after graduation," Brittany announces. "Just you and me to a place where nobody knows us and we can get away from all this stuff."

"Like where?"

"Maybe somewhere in the Caribbean? Mexico? Somewhere with a beach so we can sleep with the door open and hear the ocean at night."

Santana grins. "So—like a romantic getaway."

"Yes. _Super_ romantic. We can get couples massages and take walks on the beach and spend a whole day just having sex in the hotel room and ordering room service when we get hungry."

Santana laughs hard at that, but she starts to feel an oncoming excitement in her belly, like maybe they _will_ do that and maybe they're totally acting like a young couple in love right now.

"Brittany," she says affectionately—and then, fuck it, her hand's reaching across the table and taking hold of Brittany's, and she just lets their hands rest there, on top of the table, while she leans her head into her other hand and says, "That's amazing. You're amazing. We're definitely doing that."

"Really?"

"Really."

…

They drive to a theater on the same side of town as the restaurant. Brittany insists on paying for their tickets ("I asked _you_ on this date, San—isn't that how it works?"); Santana insists on stopping at concessions to buy a box of Sour Patch Kids for Brittany and a frozen Coke for them to share.

Santana leads the way into their theater and starts to scoot into one of the middle rows, but Brittany tugs on her elbow and pulls her further up the auditorium.

"Where are you going?" Santana asks.

Brittany just winks at her and leads her to the very top row. When Santana sits down next to her, Brittany whispers, "You know this is where you're supposed to sit if you plan on making out with someone."

"Do you plan on making out with me?"

Brittany glances around and sees that no one is looking at them. She kisses Santana's earlobe and husks, "Yes."

Heat rushes to Santana's face; her breath catches in her lungs.

"But first…" says Brittany, pulling away from her and grinning, "I want to eat my candy."

…

When Brittany leans in to kiss her fifteen minutes into the movie, Santana giggles.

"You taste super tangy."

Brittany laughs through her nose. "The Sour Patch Kids," she says.

"It's making my lips tingle," Santana whispers.

They kiss and kiss and kiss; they make out quietly but passionately in the darkness of the theater. Brittany places a hand over Santana's jaw line to help steady their kisses; Santana places a hand on Brittany's knee to help intensify them. Their torsos rock to and fro, like a boat on the sea, and Santana wants Brittany so badly that it hurts.

"Britt, I…." she tries hard to control her breathing. "I can't handle this right now."

"I want you so bad," Brittany whispers in her ear. She sucks at Santana's neck and trails a hand up her thigh. Santana seizes it and pulls away.

"Britt—seriously," Santana pants. "I don't have enough self-control for this."

"Do you want to leave?"

Santana takes deep breaths to calm her body. "No," she says after a minute. "Those tickets weren't cheap and I actually want to see this movie. Plus…I don't want to ruin our date."

Brittany laughs. "That would hardly be ruining it…."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know." Brittany sits back in her chair and kicks her feet up on the seat in front of her. She pops another Sour Patch Kid in her mouth. "Oh, but San?"

"Yeah?"

Brittany yawns exaggeratedly. "Oh man, I'm so tired all of a sudden," she says with fake seriousness. "I think I need to stretch…." She spreads her arms out and settles the left one around Santana's shoulders. "Hmm. Look at that."

Santana laughs and burrows into Brittany's side. "You're a goof."

"Santana, don't make fun of me, that was really nerve-wracking."

"I'm sure, BrittBritt." She kisses Brittany sweetly. "Maybe you should have tried the one that's like, 'Hey, let's count shoulders—1, 2, 3, 4.'"

Brittany laughs. "That's a good one. I'll have to ask around for some more—I could probably just ask those middle-school boys down there."

"Conference with them after the movie."

"Definitely."

They kiss each other's lips – the first time to say _You're cute_, the second time to say _But really, just so cute_ – and finally turn their attention to the movie.

…

Santana knew they'd go back to her house – she knew without even having to think about it – but still she asks, "Why aren't we going back to your place?"

Brittany looks over at her as she drives. "You need to go home, baby. You can't avoid it forever."

Santana sighs. "I know."

"It'll be better to face it tonight, when I can stay with you." She squeezes Santana's hand.

Santana's parents are already in bed when they get home. Santana feels that slight pang she always gets when it seems like her parents don't give a damn about where she is or what she's doing.

"Did they know you'd be home tonight?" Brittany asks.

Santana shrugs like she doesn't care. "I haven't talked to them since yesterday."

Brittany hugs her and kisses her hair. "Let's go to bed," she says softly. "I want to make love to you."

…

Brittany undresses her like she did on Thursday night – so gently, so tenderly – but this time, her movements are laced with a reverence that makes Santana feel strong. "You are so beautiful," Brittany whispers as she kisses Santana's skin. "My beautiful, beautiful girl."

Santana undresses her in kind. She goes slowly, savoring each part of Brittany's body: her shoulders, her breasts, her hipbones. She loves her, loves every single part of this girl who lights her life.

They kiss each other hard—not desperately, not feverishly, but surely and confidently; and Santana thinks that even though her life might be falling apart, even though her identity might be unraveling at the seams, this—_this—_ is growing like the sun in the morning sky, big and bright, stopping for nothing.

Brittany makes love to her. She makes love to Brittany. They make love and breathe love and are absolutely in love.

The coming weeks are going to be hard, but at the moment, Santana doesn't care. Not when Brittany's here with her, holding her, reminding her why it's all worth it.

"You are the most amazing thing I know," Brittany whispers.

Santana kisses her, kisses her, kisses her and says, "I love you—I love you—I've always, always loved you."

…


End file.
